


Sazerac

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Submission, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir confesses a rather undignified wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sazerac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PockyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockyGhost/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for pockyghost’s “Lindir has a less than common kink, which he and Elrond either discuss or indulge in.” prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When he sings, he does so of far off lands, things from mere stories and imagination, to avoid the babbling praise that normally permeates his mind. He strokes his harp and sings of birds and flowers, but he thinks of _Lord Elrond_ , over and over, with his eyes trained on his master’s silhouette. He’s perched on the end of Elrond’s bed, filling Elrond’s room with music. Elrond sits at his desk, copying out a letter, and every so often, his lips will twitch upwards in a gentle smile, and Lindir’s chest will flutter, because he’s sure it follows the crescendos of his song. Elrond is all his inspiration.

Elrond pauses abruptly. He lays down his quill but doesn’t scan his letter, revealing that he isn’t finished. When Elrond pushes back his chair to rise, Lindir hesitates. His song dies, his fingers stilling against the strings of the small harp in his lap. Elrond glances at him and smiles fondly. 

“You did not need to stop,” Elrond chides, though of course Lindir would; how could he play without his muse? “I simply must excuse myself for a moment.”

Lindir dips his head in understanding, colour filling his cheeks. He knows what that means. And he’s been waiting for it, for a chance to try something he’s long desired but always feared to say. The courage has been building lately, but he still can’t get the words past his lips. Elrond sweeps towards the door. As he passes by the bed, Lindir’s hand seems to spasm, darting out of its own accord, to catch Elrond’s sleeve. 

Elrond stops immediately and looks down, to where Lindir has become horribly red, so embarrassed that he can barely express himself. He opens his mouth, then closes it again to lick his lips, and finally asks, small and hollow, “May I come?”

Lifting a brow, Elrond elaborates, “I mean only to relieve myself.”

“I know.” A sharp intake of breath, and Lindir asks, shaky, “You... you have encouraged me before to... to speak freely of my... ah...”

“Of your wishes?” Elrond asks, filling it in before adding, “Please speak swiftly, Lindir. My need is rather... pressing.”

Lindir bites into his bottom lip to stop his moan, but he doesn’t fully manage. He lifts the hand that isn’t clutching Elrond’s sleeve to cover his mouth, and around it, he tries to murmur, “I... I apologize, my lord... it is just that I... this is quite... it is _dirty_ , and I do not wish you to lose respect for me—”

“That is not a possibility,” Elrond insists. “Whatever you should wish of me, I ask to know.”

Lindir nods. He can’t quite meet Elrond’s eyes. But his gaze has fallen lower, which is far worse: it rests on Elrond’s middle, where he knows that Elrond has a _need_ , one which Lindir could take care of, right here or at any time. When he can’t bring himself to say it again, he sucks in a breath and dares to crawl from the bed, straight onto the floor, on his knees before his lord, where he clings to Elrond’s robes. Around a groan, Lindir begs, “Please, my lord... use _me_ instead. If you have only to spill yourself, do so in my mouth—I have always longed to drink from you, I... I know it is shameful, but I cannot... I cannot abide such waste of my lord’s release...” He’s looking up now, trembling lightly for fear of abandonment, of this ending because he’s always been such a sycophant for his beloved lord, and this crosses such a line—it’s _debauched_ ; Lord Elrond deserves better, but Lindir can’t stop himself from wanting _everything_ Elrond’s body could give him. Elrond’s face is open, baring only surprise.

Slowly, Elrond asks, “Do you truly mean this? That you wish to...?” Lindir nods quickly, before burying his face in Elrond’s robes just to hide his face. “...I would feel guilty for this, I believe, and I am not sure I would wish to return the action...”

“I would not want you to,” Lindir mumbles, having to withdraw to explain himself. “Please, if this is not something you could enjoy, forgive my insolence; I will never ask for it again. But if you should agree to try, I... there would be no need for guilt. I very much desire it.”

Elrond sighs. Lindir’s skin is burning. He wishes he hadn’t said anything. But it’s too late, and finally, Elrond reaches down to take hold of Lindir’s wrist. Lindir’s gently guided to his feet, and then tugged along as Elrond resumes his path towards his private washroom. 

When they’ve turned the corner, Elrond says, “I believe the bathing tub will negate the mess we would otherwise be left with, although I also do not wish to sully your robes.” 

Lindir’s heart is beating too quickly in his chest. With trembling fingers, he unclasps his own robe, drawing loose the fastenings as quickly as he can. Elrond’s hands bracket his face and lift free his circlet, placing it aside on the sink counter. As he brushes his robes free from his shoulder, he murmurs, “My lord, if you do not wish this...”

“Hush,” Elrond commands, in that kind way of his that still remains stern. Lindir always obeys. Indoors, Lindir only has his sandals to step out of, and he’s left with nothing, naked and vulnerable before his lover. He climbs into the bath, the smooth ceramic surface cool against his limbs, and he kneels at the side. 

As he parts Elrond’s robes, Elrond murmurs, “Lindir, I may not be able to hold back much longer. If you were to change your mind, you would need to do so now—”

Lindir is already moving forward. The moment he has Elrond’s cock in his hands, he ducks in to lick it, drawing his tongue all the way up from base to tip, where he locks his lips around the head. He can’t help himself. He moans and delights in the taste, the texture: nothing is more pleasant on his tongue than his beloved lord. With one hand on the base and the other aside in Elrond’s full robes, Lindir suckles at the tip, but the first hearty suck has it exploding. 

The gush that comes is unexpected, warm and thick, shocking Lindir enough to pull back, so that the first splash trickles down his throat but the rest splatters his face. He closes his eyes just in time, his hand still holding it up, so that it sprays all over him, landing on the bridge of his nose but splashing over his cheeks, up his forehead, and drizzling down his chin and along his jaw. It catches in his hair, soaking the ends that hang over his shoulders, and pools in his open mouth, where he tries to catch as much as he can. When he closes his mouth to swallow his first load, it paints his lips instead, and Lindir moans in sheer ecstasy.

The smell is pungent, the taste tangy, but Lindir would love it if it stank and tasted of ash. He wants his stomach _full_ of Elrond’s release, whatever kind should come; he’s fantasized before on sustaining himself on the fruits of Elrond’s cock alone, drinking nothing that didn’t come from his master’s shaft. It’s as wondrous as his fantasies, but more so, because he didn’t picture it covering him so completely as it does. Elrond often lingers too long at his work, forestalling necessities, and it shows in how much has built up. Elrond’s piss cascades down Lindir’s body in great rivulets, catching in his collarbone, clinging to his nipples, trickling down even between his legs. The first drop that touches his own cock leaves him twitching and keening desperately, bucking up, which sloshes what he wears more around him. He wants to _bathe_ in this.

He’s joyous when Elrond’s hand wraps around his own, and Lindir can withdraw his arms and know that Elrond’s cock is still pointed properly at his face, where he wants to catch the bulk of it. He runs his fingers back through his hair, ducking down so that it trails down his skull, soaking his dark locks to his body. He writhes beneath his shower, arching and rolling into it and often lifting to press his tongue against it, to swallow more into his greedy mouth. By the end, he’s licking at it over and over, letting what he misses splash and pour all down him but drinking what he can. It’s warm and slick and covers him, until all that’s left is a few stray jets that Lindir hungrily swallows. 

When it’s done completely, Lindir whimpers. He licks at Elrond’s spent cock, wanting more, and sucks at the head, but he’s taken all that’s there. He knows how depraved he must look, but he can’t care. Finally, Elrond pushes his head away; he’s probably torturing Elrond’s poor, oversensitive cock. He lifts his arm instead, licking a trail of Elrond’s piss off the inside of his wrist. 

His spell is only broken by Elrond’s voice. It’s husky, deep and heavy, asking, “Would you do this again?”

Lindir looks up, his drenched fingers in his mouth. Elrond’s handsome face is flushed, eyes dilated. Lindir glances at Elrond’s cock hopefully, wishing it to rise and cover him with another kind of release. He withdraws his fingers to moan, “I would drink of my lord any time that I could.”

“I will join you.”

Lindir looks up again sharply, but Elrond is turning, strolling to the sink and withdrawing a silver cup from the shelf above it. Turning on the sink, he continues, “But I will also drink my fill, and we will see if another is possible shortly.” Lindir’s trembling with want. Elrond turns, lifts the cup to his lips, takes a great gulp that makes Lindir keen desperately, and then comes closer again. He places the cup on the floor next to the tub and begins to shed his own robes. 

As soon as Elrond’s descended, naked, into the tub, Lindir is in his lap, filthy but heedless of it, and he helps feed his lord the cup until he can take his own sip from the other end.


End file.
